It Means Nothing
by IBidYouAdieu
Summary: Finding themselves alone together as they celebrate a special occasion w/ Jack & the Torchwood crew, The Doctor and Martha make a bargain. A dare. A challenge. One night. No strings attached. Can they handle it? Ten/Martha. Mature content.


**Hello there. So. This...is...well, remember "Black and Gold"? Yeah, that was nothing. What can I say? Once again, I had some wine and smoked a bunch of cigarettes, sat on my couch and started writing. And this came out. And there's more. I don't usually do oneshots because I'm so pathetically long-winded about everything. I get so carried away with a story that one installment just seems nuts to me. But I managed this rather intense, rather lenghtly, but ultimately satisfying oneshot with planned sequels. Please enjoy and I look forward to your thoughts. Also - this is totally AU, as you'll note when you see that Ianto is still alive.  
**

**I own nothing (except a powerful desire to kiss every freckle on David Tennant's face, but that's neither here nor there).**

* * *

**It Means Nothing**, a _Doctor Who_ oneshot by kendrawriter

It was quiet.

Much quieter than ever she could recall in the TARDIS.

Usually she hummed or there was a booming echo or her walls creaked in greeting or in protest. And her engine…one mustn't forget that sound. The most unique and liberating sound in the universe.

But tonight, she was silent. No noise, no tremble. No hum, nothing.

Martha wondered if this stillness, this silence, was somehow at The Doctor's behest. Or if the connection between the Time Lord and his ship was somehow doubly powerful tonight.

Either way, the silence only made the anticipation that much more palpable within her.

Because he was just as still. Just as quiet. He had never been this fixed in time and space, this…intense. Not that she'd witnessed, anyway.

Maybe he was trying to prove something to her – or himself. Maybe he wanted her to witness and fully realize his focus tonight was solely on her. Or maybe he agreed with her that the only way to proceed was without distraction, without noise, without comment. With nothing but the two of them, no interference from any outside influence whatsoever. None of the past belonged her. It was the way it had to be.

Martha didn't feel the ghost in the room tonight. She didn't see any shadow of memory in his eyes. There was no manic gleam, no restlessness, no rapid-fire exposition, and no _"annnnd moving on to the next!"_ Just simple, acute focus. Presence. _Intent_. And that focus, that presence, that intent was all aimed at _her_.

This was a side to the Doctor that she instinctively knew rarely saw the light of day. If ever. The side that coveted. The side that was carnal and pleasure seeking. It was thrilling to behold. So unmistakable that it almost coated the air. Arousal.

Martha was so aware of it; so hypnotized by the here and now; so ensconced in him and his intensity; that she struggled to recall what led up to this point. The point being the two of them, standing in the vast, labyrinthine library of all places, about to cross a line that had hovered over them the entire five (six, if you counted the year that wasn't) years that they'd known each other. Since that first kiss.

However, though the exchange leading up to this moment was a fog in _Martha's_ mind, it shall not be in yours. To understand what is about to happen, you must know how they came to this arrangement. The hitherto's and the whyfor's are important. As important as this new moment between The Doctor and his former Companion Martha Jones.

Not just tonight, but over those years, since she walked out of the TARDIS with her head held high.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

They were all getting older. Wiser. Not jaded, just…settled.

Things were established; they were the survivors, the fixtures, the beacons of whatever tiny shred of normalcy one could expect knowing The Doctor. People came and went, some died, some were torn away unwillingly – but Martha and Jack somehow always managed to find each other in the same room with The Doctor a great deal more often than any other persons the Time Lord knew now. He had known them and kept up with them (well, the kind of 'keeping up' that one could expect from someone with the life he led), for far longer than even _he_ expected. He was fond of them and loved them in his own way. And for him, this was different. If you had asked him once upon a time if he'd ever expected to see Sarah Jane again, the answer would've been no. It so happened that he did see her again, a few times, but it was always a surprise to him and when she left he always assumed it was for the last time.

But not with Martha and Jack. With them, the long-standing tradition of Companions who came, stayed for a short or a long while, and then disappeared seemed to have skipped a couple of generations. For in his present, they remained constants, and he was grateful. He fully expected to see them both again every time they parted ways. And they felt the same.

Of course, they led their own lives. And those lives didn't revolve around him.

Martha had been engaged and then married and then a widow. She set her mind to a career with U.N.I.T. to become greatly respected and renowned, both through her association with him and by her own brave, extraordinary acts over the years. She was a woman who had grown exponentially since his first encounter with her. The Doctor came and went in her life, and always found her just a little bit shrewder, just a little bit more self-possessed, just a little bit less captivated by him, and a little bit more beautiful each time he saw her.

Rose was gone for good. The pain of her loss faded with every day that passed. And after three years, he now found he could speak about her or remember her freely. With fondness instead of rigid self-denial. With sadness, but not torturous heartache.

Donna was still around, but lost to them by all accounts because to remember meant death. He had gradually learned to let her go, too. Martha and Jack both knew he would probably still be traveling with Donna to this day if the universe hadn't interfered. But this time, he didn't hide his sorrow from them. This time, he didn't shield it. He had let them in – as far in as anyone would ever get, but somehow just a little bit further than anyone (with the exception of Rose) had ever gotten.

And last but not least, Ianto had finally managed to clamp the old ball and chain around Jack. They stayed together through Torchwood's highest and lowest points. Through the loss of some of their dearest friends. Through betrayals and death and torture and back again. There was no way Ianto was letting one more year pass them by without this promise from Jack. And Jack gave in much more willingly than anyone expected.

So there they were.

Being as unique a couple as they were (Jack the immortal, Omni-sexual deviant with a hero complex and Ianto his slightly demanding yet endearing better half obsessed with perfect Espresso), they had a hen night and a stag night in one.

Martha flew into Cardiff from New York.

The Doctor arrived in the Hub at precisely half-past eight in the TARDIS.

Sometimes he brought along a new Companion, but tonight he was alone. Something that seemed to happen more and more often over the years. Once when Jack asked why The Doctor was going it alone so much lately, he simply answered "things change, Jack." Jack wasn't sure exactly what he meant by that. So he asked him again months later, when The Doctor showed up to help with one of their many crisis, alone again.

He had sighed and said: "I just…don't need them as much as I used to. Plus…when they leave…they always break my hearts a little bit. Who needs that on a regular basis? After nine hundred and now almost nine years, I'm starting to get…comfortable being by myself." Then he grinned. "Isn't that strange?"

"If you say so…I always thought your were pretty full of yourself." The Doctor made some comment about the pot calling the kettle and they carried on saving the world.

Martha hadn't been in the Hub in over a year, since before Tom died.

To be back now brought a complex mixture of fond and unpleasant memories – but then, so did most things. Tonight was to celebrate, and celebrate she would. She had gotten over dwelling on things since she'd first started to really heal from the year she walked the Earth.

Torchwood was a bit new and shiny these days. More funding was coming in, but they managed to keep their autonomy. There was a lot to do now, as the Earth was now on more radars than ever before. They were all pretty busy, keeping it safe, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. But there it was.

There was a new team, pieced together with the remaining members of the old one. Gwen, Ianto, and Jack were now joined by Frederick the German medical officer and J.B. the tech. Both fit in perfectly and the dead were missed and remembered, but life carried on.

"There he is!" Jack announced as The Doctor sauntered in, ever in his brown pinstripe and off-white trainers.

"Hiya, Doctor!" Gwen saluted him with her shot glass. "Here's to you…" and she downed it straight off, pounding the glass to the steel counter near J.B.'s bank of monitors and computer equipment.

The Doctor gave her a half-smile and a salute. "Celebrating without me I see?"

"Oh, just the pre game, Doc," Jack laughed, walking up to give him a hug and a clap on the back. "Now that you're here, the real party starts."

"Congratulations, Jack." The Doctor grasped his shoulders. "I never, ever, ever…ever…_ever_ thought this day would come. But it just goes to show, miracles happen all the time!"

"Oi…!" Jack feigned hurt. "I resemble that remark!"

"Ahem." Ianto cleared his throat.

The Doctor beamed at him apologetically. "Ah – the miracle worker himself! Hullo! Congratulations!"

"Er, thank you, I think." Ianto shook hands with The Doctor, and the Time Lord moved around the room greeting them all.

"Gwen! Slow down; night's still young…"

"Piss it. We're celebrating a miracle."

"Frederick! Nice to see you again!"

"Doctor, and you."

"Good ole J.B. Hello!"

"'Sup, Doctor. You don't look a day over nine hundred."

The Doctor winked at him and moved on to Martha finally.

She'd been leaning against the doorway leading down into the autopsy chamber, coolly watching him work the room. When he noticed her, his eyes changed. They did that more often now. He could see her, in ways he just didn't before. That first year, sometimes he would look at her and not see _her_. But the last few years since, every time they met again, she seemed more and more real to him in the way he looked at her.

There was a time she'd have given anything to be real in his eyes. Now, it was just something that was. A result of her being a fixture, a constant; his friend.

"Hello, you." She said now, smiling as she stood upright and walked toward him. He smiled fondly.

"Good evening, Doctor Jones. How's things?"

"Fine and dandy. You?"

"Ohhh…" he looked off, pretending to think on it. "Fine. Good. Not so bad."

They both chuckled and then did what they'd both been itching to do the whole time they'd been talking. He opened his arms and she stepped into them. He held her tightly to him, lifting her off her feet as only he and Jack were allowed to do. He said into her hair: "They're always better when I see you, though."

"Hi, Doctor," she breathed into his jacket collar.

"Hi, Martha…"

"So how 'bout we get this party started, eh?" J.B. announced, interrupting their private moment.

The Doctor set her down and they rejoined the party, the moment having passed. Martha didn't think twice about it. In his arms, memories of the longing and heartache she felt while she traveled with him would return, but outside of those tiny moments, she was whole and healed and past it all. And they were friends.

Champaign, a toast to the 'bride and groom', tequila shots (of which The Doctor had none), and pizza. Music blasting from J.B.'s iPod. Dancing. Drunken laughter. A ridiculous amount of inappropriate jokes. The Doctor picking on Jack. Jack picking on The Doctor. Girl talk with Ianto, Gwen, and Martha huddled in a corner. Jack attempting to give Ianto a strip tease to Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance" and The Doctor putting a stop to it (to everyone's relief). Gifts. More drinking.

Suddenly it was going on one in the morning and there was only one bottle of Champaign left, but many empty shot glasses scattered about the place. Jack was wearing a blue ruffle-and-lace garter like a sweatband, slow dancing to Al Green with Ianto. Gwen was drunkenly texting Rhys to make sure the twins were asleep and that he wouldn't wait up. Martha suspected they'd gotten into a bit of dirty talk, because Gwen was making salacious faces every time she received and answered a new text.

Frederick and J.B. were speaking German very sloppily – one having only recently started learning the language and the other being completely sloshed. Martha caught perplexing snatches of it when she was able to make it out. They were apparently debating whether or not Jack had actually slept with any aliens and what they themselves would sleep with given the opportunity. They were now trading conditions: "has to be at least a little feminine looking," "no, no, no…but what if both sexes look exactly alike – or they have both sets of…you know…bits?"

Martha and The Doctor found themselves left alone, talking quietly. Something they very, very rarely got to do.

Most of the time when they saw each other, it was "hello, good to see you again, where's the fire?" – and off they went until the world was safe again and it was time for goodbyes.

Their topic was currently a great deal less colorful than J.B. and Frederick's.

"How did he die?" The Doctor asked soberly.

Martha swallowed and looked down into her unfinished glass of Champaign. Talking about Tom was getting easier, but it still hurt. "Gunned down trying to protect a family on his way to Kinshasa. He went back to Africa, right in the middle of a civil war." She shook her head bitterly. "It was _genocide_ down there, Doctor. Complete and utter chaos. I begged him not to, but…"

She looked up into his eyes finally. He was listening, concern and empathy etched into his handsome features.

"He just had to. Said they needed him. Women and children were being massacred. He couldn't just sit on his hands and do nothing. He'd helped build a school there, set up two clinics…it was all being destroyed."

"Good man." The Doctor muttered. Then reached out and squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"I wanted to ring you, but…" Martha sighed at length. "I decided a long time ago that it's totally unfair of me to expect you to drop everything and come running whenever my life takes a blow."

He frowned at her. "It isn't unfair, Martha. You're my friend. I owe you that, and…more."

She smiled at him as if he was daft. "No you don't. I never did anything with you that I didn't want to. None of us did. We're with you because it's the right place to be."

"But not forever."

They stared at each other, the same memory in their eyes at the same time. Her choice to leave.

"No. Not forever."

He chuckled. "_Weelll_, it was fun while it lasted, eh?"

They were leaning against the railing leading down to the autopsy chamber, and he swung their arms to and fro.

"Traveling with me? Saving the world?"

"We still save the world together, Doctor."

"Well, yeah, but – life in the TARDIS is a bit different."

"Of course it is. It's wonderful. But working from home base is just as rewarding. Just as important. Someone has to stay behind and fend for this little planet while you're not here."

"And you do a fine job of it, Martha Jones. The finest. I would put the world in your hands any day – you're that good."

"I know," she grinned. "So is Jack."

The Doctor turned and raised an eyebrow at Jack, who was now serenading a blushing Ianto with a rather endearing (if a bit screechy) rendition of "I Only Have Eyes for You".

"On any other day I'd agree with you. As it happens, I wouldn't let Jack anywhere near the 'save the Earth' button in his present condition."

Martha chuckled at the couple and nodded. "When you're right, you're right." They watched the pair for a moment, and she marveled: "Can you believe it? Jack tying the knot?"

"'Course I can. Ianto's actually quite lovely, when you get past the stiff suits and soft-spokenness."

"Yeah, but…Jack? Settling down? I mean I know how much they love each other, but I always fancied Jack a sort of 'free spirit' when it comes to traditional stuff like marriage."

"One thing about Jack," The Doctor murmured, crossing his arms with her hand still in his, "he can be full of surprises. You can know everything there is about how he'll behave and sometimes…just sometimes…you're thrown for a loop."

He sighed.

"Besides, thing's change, Martha. Sometimes, people do too."

He was looking at her now. Martha had taken a couple of shots, and she'd had four glasses of Champaign, and just now she felt them all swimming dimly around in her system. She had become more disciplined over the years, especially within U.N.I.T. employ, and so she could handle her drink. But right now the filter she'd learned to use with The Doctor was very thin. "Do they?"

He nodded. "_You've_ done. I know you don't think so, but I _have_ noticed."

"Noticed what exactly?"

The Doctor spoke quietly, earnestly. As he did, giving her his full attention, Martha found she very acutely recalled why she had fallen so in love with him five and a half years ago.

"You never needed me to take you away back then, you know. I saw what you were capable of the moment I met you. I knew that even if I hadn't been there, you would've found a way to save those people, Martha Jones."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"I am. I'm just lucky to have been a part of what shaped you. But if I weren't, I know you'd still have found your way to being a savior. Ohhh, maybe not in quite the same ways, but nonetheless brilliant."

"Maybe you are right, Doctor. Maybe I didn't need you. But you needed me. You need all of us. I saw _that_ in _you_ that first day we met."

Yes, she was slightly inebriated. But it didn't make what she believed any less true.

He was silent for a moment, studying her. Then he nodded slightly. "I did need you. I still do."

"No, you need _someone_. Someone who can be what Donna was to you. Why haven't you found anyone yet? Why so many pocket Companions you take on a whim and then drop off three weeks later?"

"Jack told you about that, did he?"

"He didn't have to. I saw a pattern developing."

He sighed. "Believe it or not, I actually like being on my own for a change."

"Is that really true?"

"Sometimes it is, yeah."

"And the times when it isn't?"

"I manage."

"Doctor…"

"You carried on after Tom, didn't you?" He asked abruptly, achieving the jarring affect he was obviously aiming for. She was taken aback, but only slightly. She knew him too well by now.

"I miss him terribly and I haven't had a long-term relationship since," she admitted flatly.

"There you have it." He nodded as if that settled things.

"Yes, but Tom was my husband and I was in love with him, it's not the same thing."

"How so?" He seemed agitated now, but she didn't care. "How is that any different? So, you were husband and wife, but why is that commitment any less intense than my relationship with Rose, or Donna, or…you?"

Martha was speechless for a beat, but quickly recovered. "Trust me, if it was like that, I wouldn't have-" She trailed off, biting back her retort. Yes, she definitely shouldn't have had those two shots.

"Martha, I am well aware of how I treated you, and I regret it every day." He uttered solemnly. She stared at him. He swallowed and continued. "There are things…I wish…could be different…between us. I wish I could earn that time back, to do it right. But I just can't."

"How would you make it different?"

The others were floating around in the background, the music just ambient noise that hardly penetrated the bubble that The Doctor and Martha had enclosed themselves in. They stood very close, leaning against each other, their heads turned towards each other, their voices scarcely above a whisper. Her hand still in his.

"I'm not sure I want to tell you."

She scoffed. "And why not?"

"Because…well, you've made it quite clear for a long time now that you aren't the same person I met at Royal Hope. And I'd hate to…undo…any of that."

Martha shifted on her feet incredulously. "Undo. It. _How?_" She demanded pointedly.

He got a little fidgety, and scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "I mean, if I was to say that I wanted…certain things," Martha listened intently. "That I've always wanted…these certain things…but that admitting them might give the wrong impression..."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Keep going. What things? What impression, then?"

He rolled his eyes in frustration and ran the free hand through his hair now. "It doesn't matter. Let's just…"

"It _does_ matter, and let's _not_ just." Martha set her jaw expectantly. "Go on, Doctor, I'm all ears."

He let go of her hand, turned around in a circle on his heel, and ended up leaning against the railing opposite her. Martha crossed her arms and waited. When he looked at her now, his eyes were penetrating in a manner that sent heat rising to her temples and a flutter to whip through belly.

"I'd embarrass you if I told you."

"And you think – what? That I couldn't handle it? That I'd resort back to my old ways. Rejected, confused, and crying myself to sleep because you didn't fall in love with me?"

He blinked, somewhat surprised by her brutal honesty about how she'd felt. It had always been there, hovering over them, but she'd never been quite this explicit. An anecdote about a school friend and her idiot crush was one thing, but…

"I guess you don't know me very well, then." She spoke up again.

"I do know you. I care about you very much, and I don't want to have this conversation right now. This is supposed to be Jack's night, and-"

"To hell with Jack – he's one foot in the bedroom already." Martha gestured to the man in question, who was indeed engaging in a very heavy snog session with his fiancé, oblivious to the fact that Gwen had snuck away to shag Rhys and his remaining crew had passed out with an empty bottle of tequila between them.

The Doctor's eyebrows rose to the ceiling and he closed his mouth with a clack of his teeth. Martha, feeling bold and completely un-intimidated by her past history with the awe-inspiring Time Lord, closed the distance between them on the ramp.

When he tore his eyes away from Jack and Ianto, she was there waiting.

"You talk a big game, Doctor. You believe in me. You're proud of me. You care about me. You regret how you treated me." She shook her head slowly, letting her eyes roam over him unabashedly. When she looked up into his eyes again, she saw them burning. "But you obviously don't have a very high opinion of me, if you still think after all this time that I can't handle a shag without catching feelings."

His jaw dropped slightly. She saw his hearts beating furiously through the fabric of his shirt. She stepped closer.

The Doctor closed his mouth, his eyes intensely focused on hers, and uttered: "All those things are true. I _do_ care, and I _am_ proud, and I'm not about to make another mistake with your feelings, Martha."

"I'm not a child, Doctor. I'm not made of glass. I won't break."

He took a deep, slow breath and let it out through his nostrils. She felt it caress her skin and her eyes narrowed, long eyelashes feeling heavy. "I know that you aren't made of glass…" he whispered.

Martha leaned into him. "So what's the problem?"

He turned his face towards hers, reached up, and put a hand on her hip. She pressed her hands to his chest, and felt him breathing under them. "No."

"You're so full of it."

"What?" he demanded harshly.

She wasn't bothered. "You heard me. You're full of rubbish."

He applied pressure to her hips, now with both hands. Defiant, possessive pressure – and pulled her just the tiniest bit closer. "I said no, Martha."

"And I say that you're the one who hasn't changed." He was unconsciously pulling her towards him, even as his face mirrored his verbal objections.

"I _have_ changed."

"Prove it."

"Martha, I'm warning you."

"Ooh, I'm shaking_." _She teased, sliding her hands up his jacket; lacing her fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "Maybe its _you_ who can't handle _me_. Ever think of that?"

He paused for a beat, and then admitted in a hoarse whisper: "Yes, I have."

Martha felt the tingling in her skin and between her legs intensify as he stared at her.

"So you _do_ have needs, then? Sometimes I wondered…"

"I do." He said matter-of-factly.

"How long has it been since you've…fulfilled them?"

The Doctor's eyes hardened but he answered her question. "A very long time." Martha raised an eyebrow but didn't reply. He looked as if he could tell exactly what question popped into her mind just then. "No," he confirmed. "Not even with Rose."

She nodded, and then put Rose out of her mind. "So. Do you think you could? Handle me, I mean?"

"Why do you want this?" he interrupted, frowning slightly.

There was a time when even that very slight disapproval on his face would've driven her to do whatever it took to make up for her behavior. To redeem herself. Not anymore.

She shrugged. "I'm curious. I want to see you. What makes you _feel_. Without holding back. What makes you…lose control."

And on a hunch, she reached up with one hand to run her fingers through his hair. His eyes slid shut and he swallowed hard; leaning his head into her hand, exhaling deeply through his nostrils as though she'd hit some rare but powerful nerve. His face was straining not to reveal how good her fingers in his hair felt to him. So this turned him on? Martha felt a spark of hunger and satisfaction ignite in her – she had to see more.

"That is…if you can handle it." She removed her hand, ceasing her massage of his scalp.

"Are you challenging me, Doctor Jones?" Asked The Doctor, suddenly changing his tune. Was he trying to shock her to her senses? Or had that hair tussle changed his mind? She must remember that trick…

He leaned all the way into her, angling his face under her silky locks and just barely touching the sensitive skin of her neck with his nose and lips. "Are you sure that's wise?"

It was Martha's turn to inhale deeply when he kissed her there finally. A soft, damp, hot kiss – just one – that sent shivers down her spine and a quiver between her thighs. Then she could feel it, as real and tangible an affirmation of her challenge as there possibly could be, pressing into her pelvis. Hard, long, and hot even through the fabric of their clothing.

He kissed her neck again, breathing somewhat raggedly. "If we do this…" another hot kiss. He trailed them up her neck to her jaw and over until he could whisper hotly in her ear. Martha struggled to get her own breathing under control. She _burned_ between her legs; her stomach felt hollow with anticipation, and a thick knot of lust was developing in her throat. "We agree: it means nothing."

A memory: _"Forgive me. It could save a thousands lives, but it means nothing. Honestly…nothing."_

"Agreed," Martha breathed, forcing the memory away and tightening her hold on his neck as she flattened her body against his. He exhaled sharply and wrapped an arm around her; his face now buried in her neck; his hot breath making her skin tingle even more. "On one condition."

"Your terms, Miss Jones?" He was still kissing her neck.

"It's _Doctor_ Jones."

Martha stood up on her toes and flicked out her tongue, determined to give as good as she got from the off. She licked him mischievously along the edge of his earlobe and he bucked into her, his arousal poking at her pelvis insistently.

"No talking. No questions. No holding back. If you for one _second_ look like you're thinking about how I'll _feel_ tomorrow, I'm walking out. Got it?"

"Yes." The Doctor touched their foreheads together and gathered himself, swallowing hard. He let her go and she stepped back. They locked eyes, and the agreement was made.

"Lead the way."

He took her hand and they walked very calmly and silently back into the main chamber, where no one remained except the unconscious J.B. and Frederick. Jack must've swept Ianto behind closed doors to finish what they'd started on the dance floor. Martha briefly considered what _he'd_ think about this little scenario.

But she quickly pushed that aside. There was no way she would be telling Jack about this. She didn't even fully understand what was happening herself. And she didn't want to. It was a funny old life. Nearly six years ago, she had fantasized about this on an almost nightly basis. Now it had finally come. But in the oddest of fashions.

Had she really just propositioned _The Doctor_ for a one-night stand? And had he really just _accepted_? Was it the drink propelling her forward or was it that she was horny and he was there and this was sure to be one hell of an interesting night? Probably both.

But she meant what she said. Oh, she had been _so in love_ with him. And he was amazing – the single most incredible man she'd ever met. She would always love him in some way, she supposed.

But gone was the girl who cried herself to sleep some nights because she just couldn't seem to win with him.

Gone was the girl who thought she would give anything if only he would just _once_ show any sign that he was even remotely attracted to her.

Tonight, he was just a long-overdue shag. And she would make damned sure it was a fantastic one.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

So.

Leading up to this moment of utter silence and stillness, in which they were perched on the edge of a cliff, The Doctor and Martha had basically dared each other.

Neither could resist a challenge. Both had always wondered (perhaps Martha more than he) about the other in this way.

And here they both were.

The Doctor had led Martha to the TARDIS, unlocked the door, and let her inside. Martha hadn't seen the inside of the old girl in nearly as long as the last time she'd been in the Torchwood hub. She allowed that fleeting feeling of welcome and peace wash over her, but it left her very quickly as she was being led by The Doctor up the ramp and into the corridor past the jump seat.

Martha said nothing. Neither did he.

It was so silent. No sound but the echo of their shoes against the metal flooring.

Impatient with the slow crawl of their movements, Martha caught him up and maneuvered ahead of him, aiming for her old bedroom. It was just two doors down and she was suddenly feeling anxious. She hated the feeling – there was no reason for her to be nervous around him anymore – and wanted to quickly channel it into something a bit more…creative.

She took maybe three steps ahead and suddenly he was on her, grasping her tightly round the waist with both arms from behind. The feeling of his lean, surprisingly muscular body (and his long, hot erection) pressing tightly against her so suddenly caused a tidal wave of longing and burning lust to sweep over her and she gasped.

She tried to keep walking, determined to get to that bedroom, and he walked with her, encumbering her movements somewhat as he buried his face into her hair and breathed on her neck. Martha leaned back into him and angled her ass so that it rubbed against his erection and he moaned softly, grasping her tighter.

He was kissing her neck again – damn him – as she reached out for the door to push it open.

"Not there," he whispered in a breathless command.

Martha bit her lip in frustration. "Then where…?" she hissed with heavily lidded eyes, swaying back into him as he pulled her away. A thought came to her that made her swallow hard. "Your room?"

He shook his head, but the gesture was more him slowly rubbing his mouth and nose to and fro into her tingling skin. "No."

The Doctor's hands were roaming as he guided them further down the shadowy corridor from behind her. His fingers left trails of heat as they passed over the fabric that melted right down into the skin underneath. His thumb brushed over her right nipple and her breath hitched, her eyes now closed as she allowed him to guide them.

"Doctor…" she swallowed again as she felt a veritable volcano eruption between her thighs at the feel of his hardness pressing into her ass. "Hurry up."

He gave her a hard squeeze and moved ahead again, grasping her hand firmly once more. They walked until they came to the spiraling stair and the end of the hall that led up towards the library, veering off from the alternate path to his personal quarters. Martha was puzzled but her head was too cloudy with lust to protest.

They climbed, and Martha's heated anticipation grew with each step and turn.

Once they had entered the vast library, whose walls and ceiling loomed wider and higher than seemed possible, he let her hand go and walked forward towards the set of comfy couches and loungers in the center of the room.

He stopped near the big, plush velvet couch that she used to love curling up into with one of the thousands upon thousands of books he had stored here.

He faced her.

She stopped a few feet away from him and stood watching. Waiting.

The Doctor's expression was many things. One part defiance. One part unabashed lust. One part expectation. One part tenderness. And one part stoic anticipation of the unknown.

She didn't know what her face looked like, but she suspected it reflected some of the same things.

And it was silent. Palpably silent.

The overhead lights were off, but a few lamps had been illuminated around the shelves behind him, giving the room a soft glow.

And this is the point where Martha began wondering why there was such silence in him. Such stillness, now. Did she produce this affect on him? Had she finally, finally caught him by the collar, and now was he telling her: _I surrender. Your move._

Maybe.

Maybe not. He certainly didn't _look_ defeated. At least, not yet. His heated urgency from the corridor was gone now, just that quickly. But his eyes still burned.

Martha suddenly realized that he was stone sober. Where she was brimming with alcohol-induced boldness, his eyes were as sharp as death. She was glad he didn't appear to be under the influence of his sometimes exhausting sense of morality, spewing some "I don't want to take advantage of you…" diatribe at her.

Because _she_ planned to take advantage of _him_.

And then he spoke finally. "Come here, Martha."

She hesitated, not wanting to give him the upper hand straight off. But his voice was cool and confident. He was trying to prove something to her. That he could handle this. That it 'meant nothing' to him. That trademark morality of his? Out the window. A challenge well met, indeed.

Two could play that game.

She walked forward slowly.

"What do you want Doctor?" she uttered silkily as she approached him.

She stopped just in front of him and stared up into his eyes without fear. The Doctor's eyes dropped down and he was looking over her body. His gaze made her skin burn.

"I want you to take off your clothes." He met her eyes again as he sank down onto the couch and rested his arms across the back. His legs were slightly open, just enough to give her a peek at his by now extremely extended erection – straining through the fabric of his brown and blue pinstriped trousers.

He looked so…Doctor-ly…and yet so completely _not_.

Martha smirked. Something about being around Jack made her dress carefully. Made her want to live up to the sex kitten image that he so readily (and playfully, of course) assigned her. He did that with everyone, but Martha always wanted to look the part whenever she was around him. Barring a planetary crisis, of course.

And Jack _had_ given her tight black two-piece outfit an appreciative once-over when she arrived tonight. But what Jack would never get to see – only imagine, naughty boy – was what she would now show The Doctor. They would see just who was the cool and composed one after this.

Martha started with the form-fitting blazer. She unbuttoned it slowly, her eyes never leaving The Doctor's, and let it slide down her arms once it was open. Her bra was black and sheer. Her hard nipples were very visible through the fabric. She saw a glint in his eyes, but noted that he kept his face perfectly composed. So she moved on to the curve-hugging pencil skirt. She unzipped that just as slowly, and hooked her thumbs inside to shimmy it off. She peeled the tight fabric down her curvaceous bum and let it too fall to the floor.

His eyes left hers briefly as he followed the skirt's progress. Martha stepped out of it smoothly, one black stiletto heel after the other.

Now she stood before him in nothing but a black sheer bra, black sheer panties, black thigh-high stockings hooked up to black garters, and her black pumps.

The Doctor looked up at her again through his long, brown lashes. He didn't speak, but she could tell he was impressed.

It was her turn to issue a command. She placed her heeled toe between his legs. It sank down softly into the plush fabric of the couch and he shifted where he sat. She saw his cock twitch at her gesture.

With the barest hint of a smile, she told him "Take it off."

He obeyed. His slender, cool fingers found the skin of her ankle through the silky fabric of her stocking. He held her foot with both hands, briefly caressing it, and then unbuttoned the single strap of the shoe. He slid it from her foot and let it drop to the floor. She switched. He repeated the motions.

But before she could remove her foot from the cushion, he leaned forward and moved his hands up from her ankle, tracing electric trails through his fingers up her calf and thigh. One hand slid under the garter, touching her bare skin. Martha wanted to close her eyes but she stubbornly refused to take her gaze away from his.

The Doctor broke eye contact first, now examining her shapely leg in his hands. He leaned his head down and pressed his lips to the soft stocking, opening his mouth slightly and blowing steam onto her thigh. His hands massaged and caressed her, and he trailed kisses up and down, licking the clasp that fastened the garter to the stocking.

The heat and damp from his tongue mingled with the coolness of his breath drove Martha crazy.

She fought back. Lacing her fingers into his soft, disheveled brown hair. He leaned into her leg, breathing hard, and squeezed his eyes shut when he felt her massaging his scalp and swirling her fingers around in his locks.

Feeling bolder, she dipped her toes down further until they met his crotch, and she kneaded him there with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch and his cock quiver.

His grip on her thigh tightened and he made a weak noise of pleasure, his nostrils flaring against her skin through the stocking. She had him. The hair thing was definitely a weakness for him, and her gentle, stroking pressure on his groin with her toes was driving him mad.

But he forced himself to recover and reached down to grab hold of her ankle. The Doctor pulled his head from her grip and pulled her toes from between his legs – then let go of her other thigh under the garter to reach out and grab her by the hip. He pulled her forward a step and lifted the leg he still held over his shoulder.

Martha realized what was coming too late.

She had an instinct to twist away and deny him, but he held her fast against him with one hand gripping her bum and the other gripping the thigh that rested over his shoulder under the garter.

He looked up at her briefly, and she barely had time to conceal her breathless anticipation before he dipped his head between her legs and opened his mouth. The next thing Martha felt was The Doctor's hot mouth pressed against her throbbing sex through the sheer fabric of her panties. He flicked his steaming tongue out and licked the length of her. Then he sucked, closing his mouth around her nether lips as much as he could with the barricade of fabric. But he wasn't finished. As he closed his mouth, he caught her sensitive bud between his teeth and nibbled gently.

Martha gasped and jerked away instinctively, bending forward slightly so that her hips were angling away from him – running from the sharp jolt of pleasure he'd caused. He simply pulled her towards him again without so much as a pause in his administrations.

He repeated what he'd done the first time, only now saturating her sex with his tongue and sucking on her through her knickers slowly…god, so slowly…until she could feel her own juices beginning to pool and gather for him in a molten rush.

He breathed on her again with his mouth and she moaned softly. He used the hand not gripping her thigh to reach in and push aside the crotch of her panties, which rolled up into a damp little line at one side.

The Doctor paused, using his fingers to massage her, an almost curious look on the part of his face that she could see from her vantage point. He used his thumb and forefinger to stroke her, testing how wet she was, before dipping his head again and finally she felt real skin on skin. His tongue was somehow twice as hot and slick and firm now that he'd moved away the underwear.

She bit her lip and this time _did_ close her eyes, letting the exquisite sensation of The Doctor's mouth enveloping her nether lips and clit wash over her.

He started slowly, kneading and sucking, and then began to establish a faster pace.

Gradually, he began to alternate between running his teeth along her skin, sucking her clit with short, hard tugs, and thrusting his hot tongue into her opening as far as it would go. Martha's legs were trembling and she gripped his hair in both hands, her breathing growing steadily more shallow and clipped as he continued hungrily and with shocking relish. Her fingers entwining in his brown locks seemed to egg him on.

She cried out when he started going faster, rocking her back and forth with the force of his administrations.

Tingly, white-hot sensation began to creep up inside her, spreading outward from his attack zone. It rolled through her, elusive yet a hair's breath away, as he groaned against her from some deep place in his throat. She felt the vibration cut through her, but she barely had time to recover as he tugged at and rolled her clit between his lips. He glanced up at her to see that she was teetering on the edge, her face involuntarily tense with anticipation and pleasure – and with several last forceful thrusts of his scorching tongue inside her Martha came violently.

She gasped and shuddered and gripped his head and hair in her hands like she was hanging on for dear life. Her thighs were quivering and constricting around his face. He simply held onto her, his mouth still full of her, lapping up her juices and massaging her with his tongue until she couldn't take any more.

She was so wet and aroused that even the insides of thighs were damp and slick with the evidence.

The Doctor patiently (and with a distinctly self-satisfied languor) rubbed his nose and mouth along her stomach as she recovered.

Martha licked her lips, hungry for him now. "Stand up. Take off your pants."

He did as she said. As he towered over her, he leaned into her slightly, letting her feel him through the fabric of his tight trousers before unclasping them and pulling down the zipper. He wasn't wearing any underwear. His cock sprang out, fully erect and gorgeous (more erotically perfect that she ever imagined – and she'd imagined _a lot_ over that year they traveled together). It rested on her stomach, hot and throbbing. He had a nestle of soft brown pubic hair and Martha instinctively swirled her fingers through it as he dropped his pants, wondering if the hair down there was as sensitive as the hair on his head. A sharp intake of breath confirmed her suspicion. She didn't let him step out of them, instead pushed him back onto the couch again. He sat forth almost immediately and tugged at her knickers. He popped off the garters and rolled the sheer panties down and one swift gesture. She stepped out of them and pushed him back again.

The Doctor refused to remove his hands from her body, but rested back on the couch as she wished.

He gripped her hips as she stepped forward, and then her ass as she straddled him.

She hovered just over his twitching phallus, and he was practically glaring with lust.

She leaned forward and pressed her breasts against his still-clothed chest, her ass in the air, her center radiating heat that she knew he could feel.

And she kissed him. Their first real kiss since that fateful day at Royal Hope. That exchange that 'meant nothing' and had, indeed, saved a thousand lives. Martha took her time and did it right. Their tongues met and swirled slowly around each other. She tasted every inch of his mouth. He tasted like something spicy and sweet at the same time – delicious. He moaned into her mouth and bucked his hips, encircling her waist in his arms; tightening his grip on her with expectation. But she did not allow him to enter her, teasing away from him.

Exploiting his weakness, she ran her hands through his hair and kissed him still deeper, sucking on his bottom lip and rubbing her breasts into him sensually. After a long while of this, he growled impatiently against her mouth and bucked his hips again. She smirked. "Say please…"

The Doctor stared at her, obviously torn. His jaw clenched and he looked as though he'd rather pick daisies in a field with a Dalek than give into her demand. She held firm. Adding insult to injury, Martha lowered herself just enough to brush her hot sex against his quivering head, then lifted her ass again.

The Doctor swallowed hard and closed his eyes. After a moment's hesitation, he finally whispered: "Please."

Martha reached down and took hold of him. He hissed slowly, squeezing his eyes shut at her touch. His cock felt hard, thick, and hot in her hand, and she herself was nearly mad with the anticipation of feeling it plunge inside her. But she took her time easing herself down.

Martha guided him into her opening and he immediately thrust upward, hitting the very core of her, burying himself to the hilt. She gripped his shoulder with one hand and raised the other to grasp his collar.

The Doctor gripped her ass in both hands and began to fuck her, stroking hard and deep, and Martha threw her head back – overcome with each explosion of ecstasy that his thrusts produced. She let him work her body on top of him for a little while, and then she began to ride him.

He opened his eyes and grit his teeth when she began to rock her hips and clench her inner walls around him. "Martha..!" he groaned, his hands moving back and forward with the rocking motion of her ass.

Martha sped up, slowed down, dipped upward, pulling him along with her. She pumped his shaft expertly, watching his face the entire time. He glared at her at first, until his eyes became round and his pupils were large and he had to lay his head back against the couch.

"Mmm…urggh…" he moaned and growled as she fucked him faster and faster, riding him with the concentration of a woman on a mission.

She could tell he was close to going over the edge when he leaned forward and crushed his lips to hers, gripping her tightly and pulling her into him. He forced his tongue inside, distracting her with the force of his kiss until he was in control again. The Doctor began to thrust up into her with renewed eagerness, letting her mouth go and burying his face into her neck and hair.

He breathed through his mouth, lost in the feel of her. Martha felt the white heat again, the tingling, the ever-approaching eruption beginning its crawl into her pelvis and thighs.

He slammed into her harder and faster with each stroke, making her cry out.

"Doctor! Oh, yes! Oh, god!"

And suddenly the grip of her orgasm held her fast and she shuddered violently in his arms. The Doctor followed quickly, erupting into her hot and heavy. He kept thrusting, slowing down as wave after way of pleasure washed over them both.

He rocked with her, utterly lost in the after effects of ecstasy, his eyes shut tight.

They sat and rocked slowly, breathing hard, touching and hugging each other.

The Doctor's face emerged from her hair and he kissed her again passionately. They savored the feel of each other's lips and the taste of each other's mouths for a moment before she broke away.

"Doctor. That was…" she breathed, unable to help herself.

"Nothing." He said in a clear, deep voice. Martha cursed herself for even going there, but then she saw the gleam in his eye and the slight smirk on his lips. The smirk that he sometimes gave his enemies when they underestimated him. "…compared to what I'm going to do to you, now."

Martha raised an eyebrow. "Wanna bet?"

In the end, Martha wasn't quite sure how long they played this game that night. But she very acutely remembered making sure that she met and outdid everything he tried. Not that she was keeping score, but she fancied she'd come out just a bit ahead. But she had to admit, _he had some tricks under his sleeve_, that unfathomable Time Lord.

By the time they collapsed on the library floor, naked, sweating, and utterly knackered – she felt a deep swell of satisfaction radiating through her every pore.

_A one night stand, sure._

The Doctor nuzzled his nose against her cheek, pulling her closer to him and wrapping her in his arms.

_The simple joining together of two consenting adults, why not?_

She curved her body so that it fit perfectly into his, her curvy backside molding to his pelvis and thighs as they drifted off to sleep.

_A line that had been crossed and couldn't be uncrossed, oh yes._

She had no idea what the morning would bring, but then she didn't care. She had showed The Doctor that she could give as well as she got; that she didn't _need_ him, but for this night _wanted_ him; that her life did not revolve around him but that if he asked nicely she would make him her world for a few exquisite hours.

_But this night would inevitably mean a great deal more than they liked to pretend. _

«∑Ω§» «**TO BE CONTINUED**»«∑Ω§»


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